daeron sees the slow smile mirrored across your faces, a teasing joke that the two of you only know and he sees gwayne take your hand, bring it to his lips with such grace, such nobility and restraint that you scrunch your nose up in delight; feeling exactly how it felt all those years ago when he first courted you. the sound of your laughter swirls like the honey in your tea, like a magnet gwayne's ears perk up and he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead. he knows daeron is behind back at the table so he doesn't do more, he knows what it is to be respectful and not, though you do a damn well job of making sure he forgets most of the time. but for the sake of his nephew, he stops. he offers you his arm that you take instantly, slotting in perfectly next to his as his steps slow to match yours, a piece of harmony.

daeron watches with a smile as gwayne reaches the table, he walks past his chair first, knowing you'll want to reach out press a featherly kiss to his hair and a warm palm to his jaw. "good morrow, my sweet," and the glint in your eyes lights his whole world bright. its motherly the way you tend to him, the way he's always ever known it to be you and gwayne. gwayne and you. ormund, when its not you and gwayne. oh how he wishes it will always be you and gwayne.

he misses the heat as soon as your hand leaves his face with a ruffle to his hair and you take your designated seat in between your husband and son, one that gwayne has already pulled out for you and tucks you in. its a marvel how he does this all one handed, one firmly tucked into yours and daeron almost giggles boyishly at how such a love, so firm and strong can exist in turbulent times as such. but this is normalcy, your purpose and when gwayne brings your sweetened tea to your lips, the ceramic a nice warm and not burn just the way you like you sigh in bliss.

"thank you, my love," you whisper tenderly and he smiles, one for himself in pride and the other to you in devotion. your attention turns to daeron as gwayne begins to tuck into his meal. its a rhythm, you talk with daeron about his valyrian lessons, how his dragon riding is coming on, his interests, his rest, all these details are important to you. daeron almost feels bad for the way he's sucking in your attention but gwayne pays this no mind. the subtle shuffle of cutlery against his plate and besides, he's too busy rearranging your plate- he wipes the jam he knows you like clean off his dish and onto yours. and without even taking your eyes off your nephew, you move the fruit he likes off yours and onto his.

gwayne murmurs a "thank you" against your skin, the breath hot and heavy with a kiss to your neck as you're still turned to your nephew.

"you're doing extremely well, daeron," you lean in and pat his hand reassuringly. and daeron's heart swells with immense pride, all he's ever wanted was to do good with the cards he's been dealt.

"very well," gwayne's head bobs from your side of view, "you make our house very proud, you make us very proud," and just like the honey in your tea, daeron melts into something dangerously softer. the love you and gwayne share has always opened its orbit in the presence of daeron, and now it sucks him in whole, a nice warm tuck to an easy rest.

"though i'm afraid you'll have to start eating soon my heart, lest your uncle devours this whole spread," you jest and as daeron's body vibrates with an entertained chuckle, your head is thrown back into a fit of giggles, muffled as your tucked into your husband's chest as he tries to pretend outrage and offense. you look up to him, secure in his hold and soften.

"good morning to you, wife," he teases and for a second, gwayne forgets all about the young one seated centimetres from you and closes your mouth over his. in all the moments daeron has been raised in your care, there's no words to describe how you and gwayne are when you are with each other. daeron's heard the stories, been trained with the noble knight and knows how fearless, how co-ordinated and lethal his uncle can be. but he also knows the whispers, the laughter, the love existing in mundane moments. gwayne doesn't need to be loud to command the room, he certainly has commanded yours and daeron's life with such ease. but never has he seen his uncle so unguarded when he is by your side, so enamoured and oh so, normal.

"yes it seems it is a good morning," you whisper in return, content in his hold and by his side for life.

you had written obviously, you had sent an army of ravens flooded to your husband, each parchment checked thoroughly by tens of hands before they were sent to ensure you were still loyal to your sister and had not let any secrets of her plans to the throne slip. you had received fewer letters in return, each one shorter than the last and your heart ached at the thought of disappointing your husband, at the idea of you abandoning the holy sanctity of marriage you had protected for so long. the last letter had been sent two weeks ago and you knew he'd be here at this meeting.

you had begged to come. rhaenyra had refused, claiming you were safer at her side. she needed you more than anything but the feral look in your eyes, cooled to a dangeous steel had daemon infront of her narrowing his own eyes at you as she sighed in resignation from behind him.

"you just don't understand," she had muttered and the tears bit down your cheek furiously.

"no, you don't understand," your shout came out hoarse, fatigued and choked with the accumulation of impatience, anger and pure longing for your lover, "you still have your husband! you call me here to war, i am here. you have forced me to abandon my home, my family and my love-"

"war requires sacrifice!" she hissed.

"this is not our war! gwayne is not the enemy-"

"he is a hightower!"

"he is my husband! i swore an oath to him, rhaenyra," you plead, "he is all i've ever wanted and known and i haven't seen him in months," you whisper in ache. "you are not the one who sleeps or walks alone. daemon will fight for you but when the time comes? it is my husband standing on the opposite line and it is because of you we are separated by this distance."

"you are my sister," her jaw sets with a familiar posession.

"and i am his wife, the two can co-exist," you refuse, a long breath is released through her nostrils in a dangerously long exhale and she nods.

"daemon will ensure your return," a hand is placed on your shoulder but all you can feel is the burden of its weight on your buzzing heart because for the first time in months, there's hope.

the hope feels like its sinking six feet deep, buried eith your desire for reconciliation at the way his body is reclined away from you. he stands proud on his horse behind his cousin, the wind and war settled in his hair, drafting the strands in a small airy dance. he is yet to look at you and you bite down your lip in anticipation.

words are shared between daemon and ormund but its deafening on your ears, its muffled as you sink under the weight of abandonment as you try and focus on him. the skin that rests under his dirty plates of armour. the calluses on his worn hands that wrap around yours, the relish of his touch.

he looks older now, the quiet settling in his bones as his focus is placed on his cousin. its only when the talking has ceased entirely and your own voice escapes your body before you can catch it.

"ser gwayne?" you call out and the subtle shift of horses and men meaning to make a move back halt at an instant. his head perks up in your direction and you get pulled into the misty ocean blue of his eyes and find yourself drowning once more. "might i a word?" you ask, timid and broken.

ormund sends him a warning glance as daemon interrupts your attempt with an escape of a cough- "i don't think that's wise-"

"i said might i have a word with my husband?" your voice comes out stronger, cemented in devotion and nights youve spent tangled up and torn in his love. gwayne's jaw sets and he nods, without sparing his cousin or your uncle a second glance his horse rides slowly to yours till you are inches away.

its silence between the two of you, the weight of this war is holding you back and you're running out of time. it wont be long before youre due to be enemies again in this cruel twisted fate but suddenly the words and feelings are too large and too fast for you to choose. "i, oh my, i" you stutter and gwayne reaches out, tentative at first and then so bodily sure that he surrenders his palm and places it so sternly and protectively over your shaking hands, bringing them up to his chest, the claminess hitting a cool sensation of his armour. its a bit of a stretch for your arms given the height and gap of your horses but its nothing compared to the ache of your heart without him.

"it's been a while," he whispers, "i've missed you wife," and he reaches across the gap to press his forehead against yours. in this moment it feels as though there is no war, there is no enemy and there is no drastic drama soon to unfold. its just you and him, the way its always been, the way it has always been meant to be.

"i didn't mean to leave you," you choke out, you've dreamed of saying this for months, to explain yourself, to tell him you still love him and there's no place you'd rather be but by his side, "i was called to the queen's side and here i shall remain," you mutter bitterly and his finger finds your chin, hooking underneath it gently and raising your gaze to his firmly. he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth and you close your eyes, relishing and savouring in the way his skin feels against yours. burning this in a memory you'll have to hold dear for more months of loneliness.

"my greatest regret is that i had not caught you in time- it was my duty to protect you," he stresses the words, a punch to his gut and a bruise to his memory, "you're as beautiful as the day they took you from me," and he knows the truth. he's read each letter, imprinted each word of your truth into his heart, sleeping with the ink and whatever little solace it brings him to know that though you are apart and on opposite sides of this dreadful battle, you are safe.

"i want to come home," you whisper and his heart shatter into a million shards, each cut slicing him open and leaving him bare and defenseless. " i want to come home to you," you plead and the glass drives further and deeper. you know its unfair, you know its impossible and leaving now will only result in irreversible carnage and politics far beyond your position. but its the way hes looking at you, the way his heart calls your name and the way you're standing infront of the enemy's army but have never felt so safe in his hold.

"i will find a way," he promises, his hands clutching yours, fingers tightly intertwined in a lock of your desperate love.

"you will?" and you beg the tear to not slip from your sore eyes but it does anyway. but gwayne catches it in an instant.

"i will, my heart," he reaffirms, "nothing, not even above can keep me from you," his brows raise in defiance and strength that when ormund calls his name he holds you tight against him. the tire and groans slip against your skin as he places a longing kiss to your hair. "stay safe and stay strong, wife."

you shake your head in disbelief, the very little time you've been granted disappearing into this horizon. "gwayne i-" you start and he kisses you a final time. he knows what comes next and he's not ready for it. will never be ready to hear any final words from you.

"you will not wish me a goodbye," he shakes his head in a pained defiance "you will write and i will answer," he softly swears, "and you will be by my side soon, my wife." he brings your interlocked hands back over to his chest. "remember little dove, this battle is not ours and my heart will forever be yours," he kisses your knuckles before he feels ormund's horse clutter close than ever.

"i love you," you whisper and he smiles, radiant as the sun as the last months of fatigue fall off his frame.

"i've waited so long to hear you say that, my heart," he breathes.

"it won't be the last time," you promise, "we will be together soon, i swear it." he nods his head slowly as his horse gears ready to leave. you're left to watch his retreating form, the way he disappears into this distance taking your heart along with him. at the final second he throws his head back, mouthing three words of an oath burned into your soul before he completely leaves your view of sight.